The Worst That Could Happen
by KarasumaFirestorm
Summary: A normal boring Saturday turns to the worst when Lizzie gets a phone call... (complete) (now with alternate ending!)
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: no one mentioned belongs to me, I guarantee it.  
  
(Really now, if they did, I'd have the Gordo, Tudgeman, and Mr. Dig Hour. Now that's quality programming.)  
  
This little piece is something that's been sitting about, it's been awhile since I've done something in first person. Hmm...that's all I really have to say about it, I guess.  
*Karasuma*Firestorm*  
  
The Worst That Could Happen  
Prologue  
  
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~  
  
Life hates me.  
  
God hates me.  
  
At the moment, I don't even know if I believe in God. I don't know if I believe in anything. I don't know anything anymore. You think everything is finally going right, you think that even the worst parts are turning out to not be that bad, that you're just exaggerating about things, and then something like this happens.  
  
I've been numb since the call. I answered the phone, hoping it was Gordo or Miranda, wanting to do something to kill the rest of this dull Saturday afternoon. It wasn't, it was Mrs. Gordon, and she wanted to talk to my mom. Whatever. Mom stuff, it didn't pertain to me, I wordlessly handed the phone over and went into the living room to see if there were any Iron Chef reruns on. My dad had really gotten me into the show, and I found myself watching the Food Network more than any other channel.  
  
No Iron Chef, but Emeril was on, and I watched it without hesitation or added channel-surfing; I'm a sucker for that stupid "BAM!"  
  
My mom floated into the room, looking like a ghost, and yet at the same time like the weight of the world was on her shoulders, and I turned off the TV, alarmed. "What is it?"  
  
She didn't say anything, just sort of stared at me, but like she didn't even see me.  
  
"Mom? What's wrong?"  
  
I knew before she'd said anything, this horrible pit in my stomach that just screamed that something was wrong, but she said it anyway, dazed.  
  
"It's Gordo...he's in the hospital."  
  
Hospital. It was such a dirty word, such a scary word, such an evil word with awful implications. It had always had bad connotations for me, since having my appendix out earlier that year. But now... Who would've thought that a simple noun could be so sinister?  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Some sort of car accident. He was riding his bike..."  
  
Mom continued her story, but I tuned her out, my thoughts akin to a runaway train. Gordo had a bike? Gordo rode bikes? Physical activity? It didn't compute, it just...oh, wait, of course he had a bike, because he and Miranda and I had rode to the park on the other side of town last weekend to have a picnic. Of course he had a bike.  
  
"Is he okay?" I asked. Which meant, 'how bad is it?'  
  
"He's...he's in a coma, honey." Mom was looking at me strangely, but I ignored it. Coma. If hospital had sounded sinister, coma was far, far worse.  
  
My dad wandered in then. I didn't know if he was coming in from the kitchen, or if he was just coming home. "Jo, the microwave door's stuck again...oh, hey, Lizzie. I didn't know you were home. I thought you'd be out on a Saturday afternoon. Hey, know if Iron Chef is on?"  
  
"Sam, now's not the time."  
  
"Can we go to see him?" I asked.  
  
"See who?"  
  
"Well, honey, I don't know if they're letting anyone other than family visit..." my mom hedged.  
  
I stood up. I had to see him. "I'm family."  
  
She looked at me, and sensed that arguing was going to get her nowhere. And if she didn't drive me, I would have found a way to get there, maybe I'd take my own bike and maybe I'd be hit by a car, and I'd be in a coma, and we could be in a coma together, and either way, I'd be with him. Being alone was not an option. He had to know.  
  
"Fine, let me get my keys."  
  
"Wait, what's going on?" my dad asked.  
  
Mom kissed him on the cheek as I left the room. "I'll call you when we get there, okay?"  
  
"Get where?" 


	2. Saturday

Disclaimer: no one mentioned belongs to me, I guarantee it.  
  
The Worst That Could Happen  
Chapter One: Saturday  
  
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~  
  
I remember nothing about the car ride but the hospital looming into view, this menacing white giant that had swallowed up my best friend. Inside, I kept my head down, breathing through my mouth, trying not to catch that whiff of anesthetic and death.  
  
Death.  
  
Dead.  
  
It could happen.  
  
I tried not to think about it, tried to think of happier things, like how perfect tuna sandwiches tasted on a worn old sheet spread out on the grass in the park after a long bike ride.  
  
My mom had taken my arm and led me through the hospital to Gordo's room. I was incapable of walking without her lead, it seemed. When we got there, Mr. and Mrs. Gordon were already waiting in the hallway, trying to get comfortable in those awful molded plastic chairs, staring aimlessly into space, their worlds crumbling into nothing around them. My mom coughed slightly and they looked up, plastering weak smiles on their slack faces at the sight of us. "Jo, Lizzie," Mrs. Gordon said fondly.  
  
"Is Miranda here?" I blurted. I don't know why out of all the questions jumbled in my brain, that that was the one I selected.  
  
She shook her head. "No, we didn't call the Sanchezes yet. We thought it was more important that you know."  
  
I was more important than Miranda. To the Gordons, at least. To Gordo?  
  
We'd been friends all of our lives, and the thought of life without him was impossible. And yet, here it was, a chance, a fork in the road that wasn't on the map. I could lose him. I could lose my Gordo.  
  
"Can she go in?"  
  
I was jolted back to the adults and the hallway, and realized my mom was asking about me.  
  
"Of course she can," Mr. Gordon said. "She's family."  
  
I walked in. It was a small room, but still it was too large for Gordo, too large for a person who wasn't awake to do anything in it. There were tubes and wires and one of those blinking machines, and all sorts of things that I didn't know what to make of them. He looked so small there. Not just short, which honestly, was the feature about Gordo that I noticed the least, contrary to what he thought, but small, like a little boy.  
  
I remembered him as a little boy. He was so shy, so quiet, and sometimes I think that if he hadn't had me, he might not ever have had friends. He'd needed me then, to help his social development.  
  
Needed. He'd needed me then, and he needed me now.  
  
I needed him, too. Did he know that? He must've known that. He couldn't not know it. Without him, I wouldn't be Lizzie. Around Gordo and Miranda was the only time where I could truly be myself, where I could just let go and not care about anything else, and that confidence was slowly translating into the rest of my life. He had to know that I was who I was because of him. He had to know that I needed him so much.  
  
"Gordo," I whispered, and I reached out and touched his hair. It was matted slightly, and a bit oily in some places, and part of it was shaved off, where he'd been cut. I loved his hair, did he know that? It was just so uniquely Gordo. "Hey. It's me, it's Lizzie. I don't know if you can hear me or not. They said you might."  
  
I wanted to cry. More than anything. But somehow, I couldn't cry in front of him. It wasn't like he hadn't seen me cry a million times, it wasn't like he'd helped to dry my tears on almost all of those occasions, but crying was like admitting defeat. "Epidural hematoma," I told him. "I watched ER the other night, and that's the only phrase I picked up. I don't know what it is, and I don't know if you have it or not." I sighed. "Gordo, please wake up. Please wake up and be okay. They said you probably don't have brain damage. Just wake up, and...and still be you. Please? For me."  
  
He didn't move. I hadn't really expected him to, but it would've been nice.  
  
My heart felt like it was breaking. Gordo was such a good person. He was giving, and loving, and sweet and kind, and just about everything you could ever want another human being to be. He was my best friend, my oldest friend, my closest friend, and sometimes it felt like we were more than best friends, like we were soul mates. Like we were destined to find each other and spend our lives together.  
  
I didn't want that to be cut short so soon.  
  
One tear was all I allowed myself, and I prayed that it wouldn't be a gateway for worse things to come. I couldn't cry in front of him, I just couldn't, it wouldn't be fair.  
  
"'Cause if you changed," I continued, "if you woke up and you weren't Gordo, you were someone else...I couldn't take it. I'd die. I would die without you, do you know that? Do you know how much you mean to me?"  
  
Part of me expected him to answer, that my teary bedside ranting would somehow reach his comatose brain and lodge in there, and he would wake up, and everything would be okay again.  
  
"Please, Gordo, wake up and be okay," I pleaded, taking one of his hands and wrapping it in my own hands, trying to be strong for him and transmit the strength into him. I said a silent mantra of encouragement, and then pleaded to whatever higher powers I could think of. If there is a God, now would be a good time to show yourself and make him okay. I can't exist without him.  
  
"I took you for granted," I admitted to my best friend. "I thought you'd always be there, and I ignored you sometimes, and sometimes I was mean, and sometimes I wasn't as good or supportive a friend as I should have been. I'm sorry, Gordo, I'm so sorry, I'd take it all back now if I could. That's so cliche to say, I know, but I mean it, I really do."  
  
I couldn't hold back the tears now. He looked like I would break him if I moved too much, and watching him, something in me just died. I put my head down on the bed next to him and still held his hand and cried.  
  
I woke up when my mother started shaking my shoulder slightly. "Honey, visiting hours are almost up, and the Gordons still need time with him."  
  
I was still clutching his hand. "Do we have to?" It was selfish, Gordo was their *son*. But he was *my* Gordo, and I couldn't leave him. What if he woke up, and I wasn't there? I'd hate myself forever.  
  
But they were in the room now, Gordo's parents, looking haggard, and I couldn't throw a tantrum in front of them. I nodded, stood up weakly, and my mom smiled at me encouragingly. Suddenly, a thought struck me, and I took off my pink beaded bracelet and slid it onto his wrist. "That's probably not regulation, sweetie," my mom said, making her concerned face.  
  
I shook my head. "It doesn't matter." I leaned over, kissed Gordo's forehead, and gave his hand one last squeeze. "I'll be back tomorrow," I promised.  
  
As we started out the door, I stopped in front of the Gordons. "You'll be here all night, right?" Mr. Gordon nodded. "If he wakes up, will you tell him I love him?"  
  
Mrs. Gordon pulled me into a swift hug, sniffling. "Of course, Lizzie."  
  
As we walked to the car, my mom put her arm around my shoulders and hugged me to her, as if reaffirming to both of us that I was perfectly safe and healthy. Which was a reassurance to her, but it only made me feel all the more guilty as the image of Gordo, small and alone and prone in bed popped unbidden into my mind.  
  
"The Gordons will make excellent in-laws," she mused to herself, and I'm not certain if she thought I could hear her or not. "Family get-togethers will be easy."  
  
"If we ever make it to the altar," I murmured softly. 


	3. Sunday

Disclaimer: no one mentioned belongs to me, I guarantee it.  
  
The Worst That Could Happen  
Chapter Two: Sunday  
  
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~  
  
The night was spent restlessly tossing in my bed, kicking the sheets as they clung to me oppressively. Every time I closed my eyes, I was taken to a nightmare world, a Gordo-less world. I would wake up shuddering, cold. I didn't want to bother my parents, so in the middle of the night, I snuck into Matt's room.  
  
He awoke with a yelp and a confused, paranoid look in his eye. "What? What?"  
  
"Matt," I hissed, kneeling at the side of the bed. "Matt, it's me."  
  
He peered at me through heavy eyelids. "Lizzie? What're you doing here?"  
  
"I can't sleep. Did Mom and Dad tell you about Gordo?"  
  
"He's in the hospital," Matt said, the sleep slowly fading from his voice.  
  
"In a coma," I informed him, and sighed. "I'm scared, Matt."  
  
Under normal circumstances, Matt would've rolled over, told me to bug off. But he sat up instead and gave me a one-armed hug around the shoulders. "Everything's going to be okay, Lizzie. Gordo's a fighter. Don't give up on him."  
  
"I'm not..." I muttered, but I knew that the way I was talking, I really was. "I love him, you know," I whispered.  
  
Matt mulled this over. I'd thought that he would've been too young, but comprehension was apparent in his eyes. "You haven't told him, have you," he said, and I was amazed by how quickly he grasped the situation.  
  
"I haven't."  
  
"And you're afraid you might never get the chance."  
  
"Way to hit the nail on the head, little brother," I said, smiling for the first time that day, albeit weakly.  
  
"Trust me, Lizzie, Gordo will pull through."  
  
I hugged him briefly, and was even more surprised when he hugged me back. "Thank you," I whispered, and went to the door. "Get some sleep," I told him, feeling that I had to play the role of big sister at least once in this exchange.  
  
"You too, sis," Matt said, and I couldn't remember the last time he'd called me 'sis'. It felt good.  
  
~~~~~  
  
I spent all day at Gordo's side Sunday. My parents took turns staying at the hospital to make sure that *I* was okay. When Mom was there, she sat with the Gordons and they talked about parental things. When it was Dad's turn, he usually had Matt with him, and having Matt was a job all in itself. Somehow being around all those shiny, expensive toys eliminated all of the maturity I'd seen in my little brother the night before. But that was okay. Having Matt be Matt was normalcy, and I needed as much of that as I could get.  
  
Miranda came by late Sunday afternoon, looking as stunned as I'd felt when I'd gotten the call. She didn't seem surprised to see me there, didn't seem surprised to learn that I'd been there all day, and didn't even seem upset that I'd gotten the call almost immediately after the accident, while she'd been put aside for twenty four hours. Well, if she was upset, she had the good grace to hide it well, which I appreciated. This accident was taking its toll on all of us, making us have to grow up and mature far faster than we'd ever wanted to.  
  
We sat for hours, she and I. We didn't talk much, and when we did, it was just her asking inconsequential questions about the whereabouts of my parents, or the Gordons, or Matt, or the soda machines. Finally she left, and I remained. Throughout the rest of the evening, various parents filtered in the room, sitting, talking to each other, talking to Gordo, never talking to me. I held his hand the entire time. I had to let him know I was here for him.  
  
I got no sleep this time around. Gordo was getting enough sleep for the both of us, and I wanted to be there when he woke up. When, not if. I was forcing myself to think positively.  
  
I stayed until visiting hours were up, then I stayed a bit longer. No one dared stop me this time around, they only sat in the hallway quietly until I involuntarily decided it was time for me to leave. That 'decision' didn't come until nearly one in the morning, when I collapsed against Gordo's bed, having not slept or eaten in more than twenty-four hours. Mom decided there that having the two of us lying unconscious was not the best of plans, so she whisked me off. 


	4. Monday

Disclaimer: no one mentioned belongs to me, I guarantee it.  
  
The Worst That Could Happen  
Chapter Three: Monday  
  
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~  
  
Later Monday morning, she woke me up, having come to the conclusion that going to school would be healthy for me. I was exhausted, but I was too weak to argue, and hoped that maybe, just maybe, the trials and tribulations of school would be enough to distract me from my best friend's coma. I wasn't naive enough to believe that it actually would.  
  
I got there on time, probably for the first time in at least a month. First period was English, a class that I shared with Miranda and Gordo. His seat, right in front of my own, was glaringly empty. The professor called role in his usual monotonous way, and he called out, "Gordon, David" twice before I finally raised my hand and admitted, "He's in the hospital."  
  
Murmurs flew around the classroom, little hummingbird wings. I looked down and refused to answer any more questions posed to me. Miranda became my spokesperson then, and I marveled at how strong she was being. I, on the other hand, was devoid of energy. I was weak.  
  
I needed to be with him.  
  
I lay my head on the desk and didn't move it until the bell rang, when Miranda touched my arm lightly and led me to my next class.  
  
By lunchtime, the entire school had heard about the accident. Miranda and I had selected a secluded corner table, but throughout the entire period we were bombarded by people, many of whom neither of us had met, coming to say that they heard, and that they were so sorry, and they wished they could help. They were all pretty rehearsed, and only a few visits stuck out in my mind.  
  
One was from Ethan, who came by and said that he hoped Gordo would be okay because he was a cool cat and when Gordo and I got married, Ethan wanted to be at the wedding. I told him through a teary smile that he'd be an usher.  
  
One was Larry Tudgeman, who came and told us all about how when Han Solo had gotten frozen, and how I was Leia to Gordo's Han. A reference which I not only understood, but found myself appreciating. The whole experience was increasingly surreal.  
  
Lastly was Kate Sanders, who actually sat down with us and chatted for a few minutes. About how much Gordo had meant to her when we were younger and actually friends, about how he was a quiet kid, and they had nothing in common other than Miranda and myself, but he was always nice to her and made her smile. Then Kate hugged me and walked away, a few minutes before the bell rang for seventh period.  
  
I had only just barely sat down in the class when the intercom crackled to life, requesting my presence at the principal's office. Normally, a comment like this would result in a chorus of mischievous "ooh"s by my classmates, jokingly inquiring what I'd done. But the class was silent, and out of the corner of my eye I caught a few sympathetic looks as I trudged to the door. Apparently they felt I'd been through enough already, and it was as if we all sensed that this request pertained to Gordo's condition, for better or for worse.  
  
That thought didn't occur to me until I was just outside of the room, when the numbness finally faded, and was replaced by a growing panic. I burst into a run down the corridor, and heard the slap of a notebook as it fell from my hands while I fled. I ignored it, and no more than a minute later exploded through the door to the principal's office. Not surprisingly, my mom was waiting there.  
  
"Is he okay?" I said breathlessly.  
  
Mom got to her feet and glanced at the secretary, who nodded. "I got the call on my cell while I was out running errands," Mom said. "He's waking up."  
  
~~~~~  
  
When I got to the room, I had a good five minutes head start over my mom. The Gordons were sitting there, smiling down at their son, who was blinking in the bright lights of the room, but talking, lucid. Mrs. Gordon was the one who first spotted me, and tapped her husband's arm. He looked up at me, the both of them smiled, and silently got up so I could sit down. More than I could've hoped for, they graciously exited the room and shut the door.  
  
He smiled at me sleepily. "Lizzie," he said in a raspy voice.  
  
My heart soared. He recognized me! Already I could feel the tears stinging the backs of my eyes, and all I could do was nod.  
  
"I found this on my wrist when I woke up," he said, weakly lifting his hand, where my bracelet was still sitting. "Mom said you left it for me."  
  
"I didn't want you to wake up and think I hadn't been here to see you," I voiced my childish fear.  
  
"They said you were here all day yesterday."  
  
"I would've been here all day today, too, but they made me go to school."  
  
"I'm sorry. Am I missing anything?"  
  
I laughed despite myself. Typical Gordo. This was what I loved about him. "Not too much. Today in Social Studies, Mr. Elwood's toupee totally fell off. He was jumping to pull down the overhead screen, and he jumped a little too far," I said, grinning.  
  
He smiled at me, and that smile, no matter how tired, was everything to me.  
  
"I missed you so much," I said thickly.  
  
"It was only two days, from what I've been told," Gordo said.  
  
"It felt like longer." I cleared my throat and took his hand. "Gordo, I have to tell you this. I almost lost you already, and nothing is certain, so I have to say it. I love you."  
  
"I love you too," he responded immediately.  
  
"No, not just like best friend love, but *love* love. Love like I feel like you're my soul mate. I close my eyes and I see us getting married, I really do. I know it's just a silly fantasy, and I'm only in high school, but Gordo, when something is right, you just know it. And nothing has ever felt more right than being with you."  
  
"I love you too," he repeated, squeezing my hand. "Lizzie, you're everything to me."  
  
I was crying rivers now, and I wasn't ashamed. I was just so happy that Gordo was back, that Gordo was still Gordo, and that Gordo loved me. "I wish it hadn't taken an accident for this to happen," I said.  
  
"Me too," he said.  
  
I leaned over his figure and hugged him, and he moaned in pain. "Lizzie, I know you're happy and all, but I have broken ribs here!"  
  
I couldn't help it. I was so giddy, I giggled. "I'm sorry. I forgot. I'm sorry," I repeated, trying desperately to quell my laughter.  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure you are," Gordo said sourly, wincing.  
  
I put on a serious face. "Really, I'm sorry. Is there anything I can get for you? Soda, maybe? Should I press a button and get the nurse? Maybe I should administer some morphine myself."  
  
"No, I'm okay," he said, smiling bravely, even though I knew it must have killed. Smiling bravely for me. I'd thought that I had to be the brave one, but really the both of us were just trying to stay strong for each other. That was why I loved him. Even in his own pain, he was still concerned about me. "The only thing you need to do is just be here with me."  
  
"Will kissing you make anything new hurt?" I asked him, suddenly overcome with the urge to express myself in actions rather than words. Words had been failing me all of this torturous weekend.  
  
He grinned, his first real, honest, genuine grin, and his entire countenance lit up. Because of me. "I imagine that would be good for my development," he joked. "And if it does end up hurting, so what. It'll be worth it."  
  
I allowed myself a tiny laugh, then leaned across the bed once more and planted my lips on his. It was short. It was sweet. It was wonderful. It was about damned time.  
  
I sat back down, and he was still smiling. "I just wanna be here and talk to you forever," I said.  
  
"We have the rest of our lives for that," he said.  
  
"You promise?" I said nervously. I was so worried that he could relapse or do something else that would result in my losing him.  
  
"Of course I promise."  
  
There was a knock on the door, and it opened immediately thereafter, and my mother and the Gordons walked in. "You're awake," Mom breathed excitedly.  
  
"Yep, it would appear that way," Gordo said.  
  
"I'm so glad," she said. "Lizzie, how about we let the Gordons be together, okay? We'll stop off for some Chinese on the way home."  
  
"Do I have to go?" I asked, at the same time that Gordo said, "Does she have to go?"  
  
Mom and the Gordons exchanged looks. "Honey, Gordo needs time to rest and be with his family," Mom said uncertainly.  
  
Gordo's parents had been so nice to me throughout this whole ordeal, and I knew it was because they understood, they understood how deep the bond between Gordo and myself was. They'd been so good to me, and they deserved some time with his son. I'd manipulated so much of it already.  
  
"Of course, of course," I said. I kissed him quickly. "I'll see you soon," I promised.  
  
"I don't want you to go," he said, and my heart threatened to explode. I was doing this for the Gordons, but seeing his expression was enough to make me want to throw all of my kindness out of the window and just stay with him.  
  
Nonetheless, I disentangled myself from his grip. "You should be with your parents right now."  
  
My mom smiled at me, a smile that said she was proud of me. She put her hand on my shoulder and gently steered me to the door.  
  
"Lizzie," Gordo called out thickly.  
  
I stopped in the doorway.  
  
"I love you," he said.  
  
"I love you, Gordo," I answered.  
  
I was crying all the way home. 


	5. Tuesday

Disclaimer: no one mentioned belongs to me, I guarantee it.  
  
The Worst That Could Happen  
Chapter Four: Tuesday  
  
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~  
  
My rest that night was better than the previous nights. I still would jump awake in the middle of the night, sweating profusely, but I easily remedied my unease with the reminder that Gordo was awake, he was okay, he loved me.  
  
That was enough of a sleeping pill for me.  
  
I was late for school again the next morning, further evidence of my bettering mood. Miranda approached me at my locker, almost hesitant. "Hey, Lizzie."  
  
"Hey."  
  
"So, um, the hospital yesterday?"  
  
It occurred to me that maybe in the hustle and bustle of things, the Gordons had never called her. "He's awake!" I said, finally understanding the meaning of the word jubilant and all of its synonyms. The only way things could get better was if he was here right now, not tied up in tubes and bandages.  
  
"Really?" If she was disappointed that she hadn't been informed before now, she was a trooper and didn't show it. Just genuine relief and happiness.  
  
"Yesterday."  
  
"That's such great news," she sighed, leaning against the row of lockers. "So, um, Liz...did you tell him?"  
  
I knew instantly what she was talking about, although we'd never officially discussed my feelings for Gordo. I don't know how she knew, maybe I was giving off vibes. It was always there though, the idea that I loved Gordo, and she acknowledged it without bringing attention to it. How she knew I was regretting having never told him was just good best friend instincts. I loved Miranda for that.  
  
"Yeah," I said quietly, hiding behind the security of the open locker door between myself and her. Somehow, talking about this aloud made it seem less sacred.  
  
"And?"  
  
"And...he feels the same way."  
  
"Well, duh, McGuire."  
  
That took me by surprise. I slammed my locker shut and glared at her. "What is that supposed to mean, exactly?"  
  
"Like it wasn't painfully obvious to everyone in the whole of Hillridge how you two feel about each other. Why do you think everyone came to say they're sorry yesterday? Why do you think the Gordons called you about the accident hours before they thought to call me? Why do you think they called you the second he woke up?"  
  
"Well, if everyone *knew* about us, why didn't they give us a little push before now?" I blew my bangs out of my face, annoyed. It had taken a horrific accident and a coma for me to finally admit how much I loved him, and to think I could've said it all this time ago and it would have worked out fine. "I mean, geez."  
  
Miranda shrugged glibly. "I guess we all thought that you two would get together in your own time. Wouldn't have you resented it if someone had tried to push you together?"  
  
We were incredibly late for class, the only ones in the hallway. Still, we strolled at a leisurely pace, discussing for the first time the evolution of my feelings for Gordo. "I guess I would have...I don't know. Maybe I wouldn't have. It doesn't matter now, though, does it?"  
  
"You're rambling, Lizzie," Miranda informed me, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.  
  
"He's okay," I said in a rush of breath, amazed at how important those words were to me. "He's okay."  
  
"So, are you going to be Lizzie Gordon, or Lizzie McGuire-Gordon?"  
  
"*Very* funny, Miranda."  
  
She giggled. "Mrs. Gordo!"  
  
It was like everything was normal again. It had only been three days, but the longest and hardest three days of my life, and I was glad they were over. It was like the fates were giving us a test, to see if Gordo and I could overcome and finally get our act together. And we'd passed.  
  
We exploded into the classroom. Mr. Dig looked up. "Miss McGuire, Miss Sanchez," he greeted us. He didn't look happy, but he didn't look upset. "Glad you could join us."  
  
We slunk into our seats at the front of the room, abashed. "Sorry, Mr. Dig," we chorused.  
  
"Well, considering the events of late, I think I can excuse your --ahem-- *extreme* tardiness," I glanced at the clock -- thirteen minutes late, that had to be a record, "this *one* time," he added with a pointed stare at the both of us. "If you don't mind my asking, however, how is our Mr. Gordon faring, Miss McGuire?"  
  
"He's awake," I announced proudly. Again, my statement was meant with murmurs, but these were much more positive. I could feel the eyes of my classmates on my back, and I wondered if they could see the glow I was feeling. I wondered if they knew that Gordo and I had done it, we'd finally admitted our feelings, and that the planets had aligned and everything was right with the world.  
  
This time, when I was bombarded with questions, I fielded them all with ease. The period flew by, although not much got done academically. To be honest, I don't know if I actually accomplished any learning that day. My mind was back in the hospital, at Gordo's side.  
  
My mom was waiting in front of the building after school, ready to usher me to the hospital. I leaned across the divider and gave her a hug. "What's that for?"  
  
"For being so supportive."  
  
"Oh, honey, of course. I love Gordo, and I understand how hard this must be for you."  
  
"You know I love him, don't you?"  
  
She glanced at me. "Lizzie, don't kid yourself. Everyone knows how you two feel about each other. Roberta and I were nearly going to start an intervention to get you two to realize it."  
  
I rolled my eyes. A typical response for me, but I think we were both grateful that things were finally getting back to normal enough that I could do that. "You know, everyone telling me that is beginning to get a little annoying."  
  
I could find my way to Gordo's room with my eyes closed. I felt like I had spent a lifetime in this hateful building. Although right now it wasn't such a bad place. It was a place of healing, of renewal, of life and love.  
  
This time, only Mrs. Gordon was in the room. When pressed, she revealed that her husband had gone to get coffee. Now that Gordo was awake, they didn't spend a twenty-four hour vigil.  
  
Gordo saw me first, and a grin erupted on his face. "Lizzie! You came back."  
  
"Of course I came back. I never wanted to leave in the first place."  
  
"I missed you."  
  
"I missed you too."  
  
"Do you two need a moment alone?" Mrs. Gordon said, looking amused.  
  
"Would you mind, Mom?"  
  
"No, no, of course not. I understand." She vacated the chair and passing me, grasped my hand slightly, smiling that knowing mother smile. Then she and my mom left to go have motherly chats.  
  
"Did you know they all knew?" I asked, sitting down next to him.  
  
"Who all knew what?"  
  
"Everyone knew that I loved you except you. And everyone knew you loved me except me. Our parents, our friends, our teachers..."  
  
"So we're stupid. Get over it, McGuire."  
  
"It just seems like we've wasted so much time."  
  
"What, because we've been dating for only one day in the years that we've known each other?"  
  
"Gordo, I knew early on that I was meant to be with you, and the only thing stopping me from admitting that --even to myself-- was fear. And then I knew real fear, when I realized I could lose you forever and you'd never know the truth. We've wasted so much time lying to each other and ourselves."  
  
"I don't think of it as wasted time," Gordo said thoughtfully. "I think that all this time we spent denying ourselves was just time spent building our friendship into the rock solid foundation we have now. And I know that should the world end and we for some reason or another stop loving each other as boyfriend and girlfriend--" I had to smile at his sentiment, "--I know we're still going to be friends. *That's* how solid we are."  
  
"Gordo, you are always going to be my best friend," I swore.  
  
"I love you, you know. I've waited such a long time to say that, and I can't say it enough."  
  
"Were you always a romantic?"  
  
"I think the coma brought it out of me."  
  
"Ever see a bright light?"  
  
"You were the only thing at the end of the tunnel."  
  
I kissed him. Words just weren't sufficient anymore. 


	6. Wednesday

Disclaimer: no one mentioned belongs to me, I guarantee it.  
  
The Worst That Could Happen  
Chapter Five: Wednesday  
  
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~  
  
Getting ready for school the next morning, I hummed to myself. Gordo would be moved out of intensive care today, and he would be ready to go home probably by the end of the week. I might have gotten so lucky that he'd be in school by Monday.  
  
I started down the hall, still humming tunelessly. As I passed my parent's room, I heard my mom whisper, "He what?"  
  
Normally I would've kept going. I don't know what it is that made me stop, but I did, at the top of the stairs, leaning against the wall slightly, listening.  
  
"But...oh, no...but it's too soon...oh, *no*..."  
  
Mom's voice was raw, her tone panicky and desperate. Fear froze me, settling in my stomach like I'd swallowed an ice cube.  
  
"They were so happy...oh, Roberta..."  
  
Roberta? As in, Roberta Gordon?  
  
The fear intensified, the ice cube grew to a glacier, I clenched my hands into fists, groping against the walls, trying to find something to grab.  
  
"We'll be right there. Yes, I'll call the Sanchezes."  
  
Calling Miranda's house...  
  
My throat went desert dry, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I gaped like a fish, gulping for air, unable to get my organs to work properly. The door to my parents' bedroom swung open, and my mother entered the hall.  
  
Under normal circumstances, I would've smiled, spouted some cheerful greeting, acted like I hadn't been listening in. Normally I wouldn't have been listening.  
  
But this wasn't normal, and there was no use pretending.  
  
She bestowed me with a motherly look, one filled with worry and sadness. "That was Mrs. Gordon."  
  
I nodded.  
  
Mom swallowed. "It's Gordo. He's...he's relapsed. Some internal injury that the doctors didn't catch...he's unconscious again...they're talking about emergency surgery."  
  
Oh, God, no. We were so close...everything had finally worked out, and we were so close to being together for real...  
  
"Get in the car," she instructed. "We're going to the hospital."  
  
In the car, she still didn't know what to say, didn't know how to comfort me, or if I even could be comforted. Instead, she passed me her purse. "My cell phone's in there," she instructed me. "Do you think you're up to calling Miranda's house?"  
  
I stared straight ahead, unable to comprehend. I heard the words, but I didn't know what they meant. The purse was this heavy object in my lap, alien to me. One thought was running through my brain: Gordo, be okay.  
  
My mom looked at me. "Apparently not," she said. "I'll call when we get there."  
  
I said nothing. I didn't move. I was in shock.  
  
I blamed the doctors. How could they have not caught...whatever it was they hadn't caught? What the hell kind of doctors were they?  
  
I blamed the driver. How stupid was he, to not see a kid on his bike?  
  
I blamed myself. Why hadn't I been there, when he'd relapsed? He was alone, and scared, and *I hadn't been there.* I was vile. I was evil. I was an awful girlfriend (was I even his girlfriend?). He deserved better than me. I should've been at his side.  
  
At the hospital, I went straight to his room, having long since memorized the way. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Mom paused in the waiting room to call the Sanchezes. I barely said a word to the Gordons; I didn't know what to say. They nodded at me, understanding. "You have a minute or two," Mrs. Gordon said.  
  
I entered the room with confidence and purpose, but it all ebbed when I saw him.  
  
He was lying there, and he looked as bad as he had the first time I'd seen him in that hospital bed. He looked tiny, vulnerable.  
  
"Gordo? Can you hear me? It's Lizzie. Listen, Gordo, I have to ask you a favor. I know, I ask for a lot...like that time that Frankie and I had to make a quick exit, so I asked you to step in...and then you gave me thirty dollars so I could buy those jeans and be best-dressed in the yearbook...and you helped me out when Kate became the Yearbook Nazi...and you always do whatever I ask, Gordo, and I feel so bad..."  
  
I took a deep breath. "But I have to ask you a favor now, and I swear, if you help me out, I'll never ask for anything ever again. Not from you, or my parents, or Miranda, or even God, because if you grant me this one favor, I'll have everything I could ever need. Please, Gordo, just be okay. That's all I'm asking. It's really a simple favor, so I know you can do it, no problem.  
  
"Just please be okay, all right? For me."  
  
The doctors came in then, one doc, one surgeon, and a miniature army of nurses. "Miss McGuire, it's time."  
  
I stepped out of the way slightly, but other than that I barely acknowledged their presence. I kept my eyes locked on Gordo's sleeping face, hoping that through sheer willpower, I could heal him. My love overpowering this cadre of medical professionals and all their training and equipment.  
  
No such luck. He didn't wake up.  
  
"Once you're out of here, I'll buy you a hundred orders of curly fries," I promised.  
  
I followed them as they wheeled him into the hall, then stood and watched.  
  
They turned a corner going to the elevators, and I swear, I thought I saw him stirring. The events transpired sort of like a movie of the week; I chased the doctors, calling his name. The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and they wheeled the gurney inside. I couldn't catch up, I pounded my fist on the doors as they closed, and I fell to my knees, screaming at the top of my lungs.  
  
"*GORDO!*"  
  
My mother came to my rescue then, putting her arms around me, shielding me from the staring passersby, leading me back into the quieter hallway in front of his room. Mr. and Mrs. Gordon were sitting in the same chairs they'd been sitting in that Saturday, staring at the wall in front of them, numb all over again.  
  
My mother and I sat next to them, silent, waiting.  
  
Within half an hour, Miranda and her mother came, and later, Dad and Matt. We sat, the eight of us, not knowing what to do with ourselves. Miranda, Matt, and I sat away from the adults while they talked quietly about adult matters. I rest my head against Miranda's shoulder, and she put one arm around me and held my hand with her other arm.  
  
Matt sat next to me, remarkably resolute, knowing that if there was ever a time to be mature and responsible, this was it. I hated having my little brother grow up so fast in such dire circumstances.  
  
I couldn't cry. Tears wouldn't come. Things were too uncertain now to even warrant tears. I just let myself be embraced by the nothingness, the powerful blankness of no emotions. 


	7. Thursday

Disclaimer: no one mentioned belongs to me, I guarantee it.  
  
Author's note: my apologies, this chapter's kind of short, and not very good. It's kinda filler. Stick with me, though, the next one gets better.  
*Karasuma*Firestorm*  
  
The Worst That Could Happen  
Chapter Six: Thursday  
  
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~  
  
I don't remember falling asleep. I don't know how long I slept. When I woke up, I was spread across a group of chairs, and didn't see anyone I recognized. The Gordons, the Sanchezes, my own family, all gone.  
  
I sat up sharply, which only increased the headache I'd developed from using hard, molded plastic as a pillow. Blackness flashed in front of my eyes, but I shook my head slightly and it faded. I looked around. Nurses, orderlies, and doctors all bustled past, but none of them looked even remotely familiar in dealing with Gordo's case.  
  
I stood up, and peered into what had been Gordo's room. Empty. Well, no, not empty...there was a person on the bed. Was it Gordo? Was he back from surgery already? How long had I been asleep?  
  
I pranced into the room, elated with the thought that things were okay, Gordo was okay, everything was okay.  
  
I stopped about a foot from the bed, as logic finally caught up with my brain. Gordo had been moved up to surgery. Which meant he was probably in the surgical ICU, not in here.  
  
The person in the bed was a girl, about my age, dead to the world, lost in the unforgiving oblivion of a coma. I wondered where her family was, if she was going through this alone, poor girl. She looked so sad, so frail and lonely...I reached out and touched her hand lightly.  
  
Then I pulled back quickly. What was I doing? I couldn't go around harassing all of the patients in the hospital. I wasn't her family. I wasn't allowed to be here. I could get kicked out of the hospital, and then I'd never get to see Gordo. A blind (albeit irrational) panic seized me, and I backed quickly out of the room, only to slam into something. Something warm and moving.  
  
I whirled around. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I gasped. Sorry for bumping into them, sorry for being in this room, everything. I was certain it was the girl's parents, accusing eyes glaring at me, wondering why the hell I was disturbing their little girl's rest.  
  
"Lizzie."  
  
I had been trying to inch past them, staring at my shoes, but looked up at this. It wasn't a six-foot-tall angry father and his more petite, but equally angry wife. There was only one person, and it was Miranda. Impulsively I flung my arms around her, babbling. "Where's Gordo? Where is everyone?"  
  
"Gordo got out of surgery a little while ago, and they moved him to the surgical ICU. Everyone else is up there now. I was supposed to stay with you and take you there when you woke up. I had to go pee," she admitted, blushing slightly.  
  
"How...how is he? Did he make it? Is he okay?"  
  
She averted her eyes from me, and I could feel a cold chill rushing through my body. "He's not okay, is he. Tell me. I can take it." I put on a brave semi-smile, but I think we both knew that I couldn't take it. I just prayed to anything and everything I could think of that he would be okay.  
  
"Well, he made it out of surgery fine, they fixed him up, but he's still out cold."  
  
"That's good, right?"  
  
"I guess. I don't know. I mean, he's all patched up, so it's only a matter of time before he wakes up, I guess."  
  
"Take me to him," I said. "Please."  
  
~~~~~  
  
The Sanchez parents, the Gordons, Mom, Dad, and Matt were all crammed into a tiny room that was holding three occupied beds. None of the people in the beds were awake, including Gordo.  
  
"We're here," Miranda announced, and everyone turned to look at me.  
  
I didn't see them. I just pushed through the group, or maybe they stepped aside for me, and I found my way to Gordo's bedside. I reached for his hand, a little chilly, but I could feel his pulse. I clasped it tightly in both of my own. "I'm here, Gordo," I said softly. "Sorry I'm late."  
  
"Maybe we should give them some space," I thought I heard Mrs. Sanchez say, and I've never loved the woman as much as I did at that moment.  
  
As the families paraded out of the room, I stared at Gordo's closed eyelids. I thought about his eyes. How blue they were, how they sparkled when he smiled, how sometimes when he was looking at you, it felt like he was looking into your soul. It felt like one big cliche, but it was true with Gordo, because he really did see you for the person you were inside. He really did see your soul.  
  
I squeezed his hand slightly. "Gordo, please wake up. It's Lizzie. Please. Please wake up. For me?"  
  
But I got no response. I loved him, I loved him so much, but I was no miracle worker. I hadn't been able to do anything. I hadn't been able to stop the accident, I hadn't been able to heal him, I hadn't been there when he'd woken up, I hadn't been there when he'd relapsed. I was worthless. He'd needed me, and I was never there.  
  
I was here for him now, though.  
  
I was here and I wasn't about to leave until he got to walk out with me. 


	8. Friday

Disclaimer: no one mentioned belongs to me, I guarantee it.  
  
Author's note: you're going to hate me for this chapter. Sorry.  
*Karasuma*Firestorm*  
  
The Worst That Could Happen  
Chapter Seven: Friday  
  
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~  
  
I woke up in a hospital bed of my own. Where was Gordo..?  
  
The room was blindingly white, glaringly white, and it made my eyes ache and my head hurt. I tried to sit up, but it was a struggle. I realized with horror that I couldn't move at all.  
  
"Oh, God, Sam, I can't believe she's gone," I heard someone say, and it occurred to me that it was my mother talking. Gone? What was she talking about? I wasn't gone; I was right here. In front of her.  
  
She was staring at me with sad eyes. Eyes that were...*dead*. My dad was standing next to her, his arm around her shoulders tightly, his other hand on Matt's shoulder as my little brother leaned against Mom for support.  
  
"I can't believe this..." Mom sobbed. "It's just not fair."  
  
"No, it isn't," Dad said softly. "But there's nothing we can do."  
  
"Mrs. McGuire?"  
  
Gordo stepped into my frame of vision, looking tired. My heart swelled with relief. He was okay! He was standing, and he didn't seem to be injured in any way. The only thing wrong with him was just that tiredness in his eyes. "Mrs. McGuire," he said softly, "I'm so sorry."  
  
Mom didn't even look at him. What was wrong? Mom loved Gordo.  
  
"It's not your fault, son," Dad said gently, offering Gordo a sad smile.  
  
Mom's eyes bugged and she turned to Dad accusingly. "Son? Don't you *dare* call him son!"  
  
"Jo, honey, he's our daughter's best friend. He loves Lizzie more than anything."  
  
"*Was* her best friend, Sam. Was. And look where it got her! She's dead! And it's Gordo's fault!"  
  
Dead? Gordo's fault?  
  
"I'm so sorry, Lizzie," Gordo said softly, taking my hand. I could only barely feel his touch, as if I wasn't quite connected to my body. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, not ever."  
  
"Gordo, I'm fine, it's you who's hurt..." I tried to say, but my mouth wouldn't open, and words wouldn't come out. What was happening?  
  
"Lizzie, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Gordo said. "Lizzie..."  
  
"Lizzie!"  
  
My head jerked up so fast that I could feel my neck rebelling against the rest of my body. Oh well. If I had whiplash, the best place to get it was in the hospital. I blinked in confusion, trying to clear my head.  
  
"Lizzie, are you okay?"  
  
A face was coming into focus in front of my eyes. Gordo..?  
  
No, Miranda. I shook my head slightly. "I'm...I'm okay. It was a dream, wasn't it?"  
  
She frowned at me. "Was what a dream?"  
  
I was so groggy, I wasn't sure. "I don't know. Any of it."  
  
Miranda graced me with the saddest of smiles. "Sorry, it's not. We're in the hospital still."  
  
Hospital. Gordo. Coma. Surgery. It was all coming back to me now. Gordo was the one in the hospital bed, not me. What I had seen, it had all been a dream. Of course.  
  
The dream was surprisingly metaphoric, though. Because Gordo *was* killing me slowly. And if anything happened to him, I might as well be dead. I turned my head, although my neck screamed in agonized protest. I must have fallen asleep at his bedside, hunched in my uncomfortable chair, head bent at an uncomfortable angle, using his sheets as a pillow, inhaling the smell of disinfectant.  
  
Gordo was still asleep, comatose, dark curls even darker against the pale blue of his pillow. I stood up, trying to flex my muscles back into working order. I leaned over and kissed his forehead sadly, then looked to my other best friend. "How long have I been out?"  
  
She lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "I'm not sure. A couple of hours, at least...I went home for awhile." I checked her over; she'd changed clothes.  
  
"Has his condition changed at all?"  
  
"I'm not a doctor, Lizzie."  
  
I stared at her penetratingly, and she sighed. "Not really. He was out cold when you fell asleep, and he's out cold now. He just came out of major surgery, Lizzie. This is what happens. We wait."  
  
I sighed and slumped back into my chair. The molded plastic pressed awkwardly into my back. "I miss him, Miranda."  
  
Miranda put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed gently. "I know you do, honey." She'd never called me 'honey' before, but now was not the time to call her on that, nor did I particularly want to. I was surprised anything she said was registering in my brain. I was just exhausted. It's weird, how sometimes, the longer you sleep, the more tired you get.  
  
That theory in mind, Gordo would be absolutely exhausted when he woke up.  
  
If he woke up.  
  
No, not if. When.  
  
"We all miss him," Miranda continued softly.  
  
I leaned against her. Because she was still standing, my head was against her stomach, and I could hear her heartbeat faintly. It still wasn't louder than the infernal beep of the monitor hooked up to my boyfriend, but it was comforting somewhat.  
  
After several minutes at least of us holding that position, I stood up. "I have to go to the bathroom," I admitted. "Don't let anything happen without me, okay?"  
  
She half-smiled at me. "I promise."  
  
As I left, I encountered every member of my, Miranda's, and Gordo's immediate families. They all fixed me with concerned looks and pestering questions, but I just brushed past them. The bathroom was mercifully empty, for which I was grateful. No more of that scent...that mixture of disinfectant and death.  
  
Gordo's room smelled like death.  
  
I must have lingered too long. I had promised Gordo I wouldn't leave him again, but now that I had, I was scared to go back. What if he didn't ever wake up? What if, what if, what if..?  
  
As I strolled back to the room, I felt myself again entering movie-of-the-week vision. A doctor clamored into Gordo's room in slow motion, past a gaggle of frantic parents. Roberta and Howard Gordon chased after him in slow motion. I started to run, expecting the worst. I pumped my legs, but the hallway seemed to grow longer with every step, Gordo's door that much farther away. I must have been dreaming again. This sort of thing always happened in dreams.  
  
But I wasn't asleep. I was very much awake.  
  
A nurse ushered Miranda out of the room and shut the door after her. The Gordons remained in the room with their son, pushed to the back wall. The rest of us crowded against the window, struggling to see.  
  
A glass partition and a coma separating me from the boy I loved.  
  
I saw them lifting out the paddles.  
  
I saw the doctor's mouth moving but heard no words as he barked instructions at the nurse.  
  
I blacked out. 


	9. Saturday

Disclaimer: no one mentioned belongs to me, I guarantee it.  
  
The Worst That Could Happen  
  
Chapter Eight: Saturday  
  
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~  
  
When I woke up, I wasn't sure what was real or not anymore. Maybe this was another dream. Maybe *all* of this was a dream. There was no accident, no hospital, Gordo was okay.  
  
There was a downside to this being a dream, however. If it was a dream, it meant that Gordo and I never really did get together. And I wasn't sure if I wanted to give that up.  
  
When my eyes opened, all I could see was white. Blinding, glaring white, and I blinked repeatedly, getting the images to clear and separate.  
  
I was in a hospital bed. Maybe this was my dream again. A horrible recurring nightmare.  
  
"Lizzie?"  
  
They were talking to me...that meant I wasn't dead...  
  
"Guh..?" I said groggily, momentarily humiliated by my total lack of coherency. I shook my head, blinking a few more times, and my mother's face appeared in front of my own. She was looking worse than I'd ever expected her to be able to. Like she hadn't slept in weeks.  
  
"What the...where am I?" I asked.  
  
"The hospital, Lizzie," she said patiently, tears very obviously in her eyes. "Don't you remember?"  
  
"I'm just...sleepy..." I murmured.  
  
"You passed out, honey," a voice said, and I recognized it as my dad. I looked around, the room much more focused now as I was beginning to be a lot more conscious.  
  
"Gordo." I wasn't sure if I'd thought it, or said it, but a look passed between my parents, so I must have said it. "He's okay, isn't he."  
  
Suddenly I remembered everything. The paddles. The beeping of Gordo's machine. I had been in the bathroom. *The bathroom.* I had left his side for two seconds, and everything had gone to hell.  
  
I saw Miranda in a chair in the corner of the room. She looked tired. Everyone looked so tired. This had been an awful week on all of us. I just wanted it to be over, for it to all be over, to just sink back into that blissful, dreamless sleep and not have to worry.  
  
"Honey, about Gordo..." Mom hedged.  
  
That was never a good sign. I bolted upright, ignoring the wave of blackness that crashed through my skull. "Please, tell me he's okay. Please."  
  
They weren't saying anything. Seconds went by, minutes, hours, I had no idea. Time was standing still, my future hanging in the balance.  
  
Miranda spoke up. "He's okay, Lizzie."  
  
"Oh, thank God," I said in a rush of breath, leaning back against the flat pillows. Again, my quick movements brought me a horrible, pounding headache, and I groaned despite myself.  
  
"Lizzie, are you okay?" my parents chorused worriedly.  
  
"I'm fine," I said, although I was anything but. My temples were throbbing and I felt like my head was going to be ripped apart. "Tell me about Gordo."  
  
"He went into shock," Miranda said. "Or something. I don't know. It happened right after you left for the bathroom. They shocked him with the paddles, and you passed out."  
  
"Did the paddles work?"  
  
She nodded. "He's okay now."  
  
I tried to swing my legs off the edge of the bed, but the blanket was smothering them. I kicked weakly, and Mom steadied me with a hand on my arm. "I have to go see him," I insisted.  
  
"No, Lizzie, you have to rest. You've been under a lot of stress, and the doctor said you should just lie down for awhile and eat something. Then I promise, you'll get to go see him."  
  
Dad had taken Matt home, Miranda and her parents had gone home to check on the baby, and the Gordons, after briefly checking in on me, had returned to their son's side.  
  
I choked down the bland hospital chicken dinner, and as my mother left me alone to throw out the tray, I struggled to sit up and get out of the bed. I managed to pull myself to a seated position, my legs dangling off the side, but was hit with another massive headache, one that caused me to topple to one side against the pillow. With a grunt, I managed to pull my legs back on top of the covers before falling unconscious again.  
  
Another dreamless sleep. Ever since last Saturday, when I'd heard the news, I'd hardly been able to sleep, and food had made me nauseous. Now my body was rebelling against me, forcing me to fall asleep, deeper and longer each time. Maybe the next time would be the deepest and longest, and I would be permanently lost in this cocoon.  
  
I felt like the narrator from Fight Club. I had seen it a few weeks ago, with Gordo, in his room. He wanted to see it for the raw violence, and sold me on it with the mention of a shirtless Brad Pitt. We both ended up getting sucked into the subtext, and I now found my life mirroring that of the narrator. Never quite awake, but never quite asleep, either.  
  
The room was empty, and I didn't care about waiting around for someone. I was feeling lucid enough to get out of bed, and so I did, with minor dizziness, padding to the doorway.  
  
I knew where I was. That surprised me. I also knew how to get to Gordo's room from here, and I made a wobbly trek to the elevator, where I reconnoitered, and emerged on his floor feeling almost like my old self.  
  
No one was in Gordo's room, either, and I wondered where on earth everyone could've been. Weren't they supposed to be keeping vigils on the both of us?  
  
I entered, hearing the arrhythmic beepings of three machines chorused together. I went to Gordo's bedside, clasped his hand, grateful to feel his pulse under my fingertips. I kissed his forehead, and to my surprise, he moved.  
  
Slowly, his lids fluttered open and I got to see those familiar blue eyes, albeit with a lot more tiredness in them, and lacking their usual sparkle. I beamed at him. "Gordo, are you awake?"  
  
"Lizzie..?" he said thickly.  
  
"It's me, I'm here," I assured him, holding his hand as tightly as I dared. "Oh, God, Gordo. I was so worried."  
  
He blinked rapidly, trying to get his bearings. How well I knew that feeling. "Am I in the hospital?"  
  
"Yes, yes," I said, trying to keep the worry out of my voice. He wasn't suffering amnesia or something, was he? He couldn't have been; he remembered my name. "You were in a car accident a week ago, remember?" Had it really been a full week? The realization of that hit me, and I gave his hand another firm squeeze.  
  
"Car accident, yeah," he said.  
  
"There was some internal problem the doctors missed," I explained, "and you had to be sent to emergency surgery. You're in the surgical ICU right now. And yesterday, you went into shock and they had to use those paddle things on you. But you're okay now."  
  
"I almost died," Gordo said vaguely.  
  
"You didn't," I said, but I knew that was a lie. He did almost die. I was so terrified.  
  
"I did," he insisted. "And I obviously don't remember much from a coma, but I'm not lying when I say that I remember you. I saw your face, Lizzie. I saw your face and I didn't want to let go."  
  
I had skipped the 'silent tears' step and had jumped straight to bawling. "Please don't leave me, Gordo," I said. "Not ever. Please. I love you. I need you."  
  
"I won't," he promised. "Not if I can help it."  
  
I leaned over and was kissing him when the doors open and a whole slew of people paraded inside. "See, I told you this was where she'd be," I heard Matt say.  
  
I knew everyone's eyes were probably on us. The Gordons, the Sanchezes, my own family. I didn't care. I kept kissing Gordo, he kept kissing me back, we kept celebrating life and togetherness. 


	10. Epilogue

Disclaimer: no one mentioned belongs to me, I guarantee it.  
  
Author's note: This is it, the epilogue. The finale. The end. It's been a fun ride (well, not 'fun', per se...but it's been a ride). I'd like to thank all y'all for your great reviews, which inspired me enough to stop myself from scrapping the entire thing, which I debated doing on several occasions.  
  
I'd also like to thank (what is this, the Oscars?) Hilary and Adam for being great actors and bringing such life to such great characters. They (and the rest of the cast, naturally) have given a lot of people things to do with their free time.  
  
So enough with the sap, and on with the other sap. Much love to you all!!!  
  
*Karasuma*Firestorm*  
  
The Worst That Could Happen  
  
Epilogue  
  
~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~  
  
What can happen in two weeks?  
  
A *lot* can happen in two weeks, let me tell you.  
  
You could find yourself facing a lazy Saturday afternoon, wearing your most casual sweats and flopped on the couch, watching Emeril, then out of nowhere, you get a phone call that crumbles your entire universe.  
  
Think about it. A minute or two. The punching in of seven digits, the delivering of the news, it only takes about a minute or two.  
  
A minute or two is a lot.  
  
Two weeks is a lot, too. In that first week, I almost lost my best friend in the universe. I've known him since I was a day old, and I've spent almost every day since then with him, and the idea of never getting to spend another hour with him was terrifying and humbling. You'd be surprised at the things you take for granted. Take for example, my (now-defunct) crush on Ethan Craft.  
  
Now, Gordo and I argue tons. About the really stupid stuff, like Ethan. I think that half the reason that I even really liked Ethan was just the desire to prove Gordo wrong. Of course, a lot of that ended up being me proving Gordo right; he thought I was shallow and I *was* shallow. But all the same.  
  
Without Gordo there to encourage me, or to make fun of Ethan, the chase seemed pointless. (Disregard the fact that I was barely in school that week, anyway.) During one of those long nights waiting patiently at Gordo's bedside, it occurred to me that I never really liked Ethan. Was it just my mind's way of ignoring the fact that it was Gordo I was really after? Or was it just a way to bring myself closer to Gordo? I have no idea. I'm not a psychologist. I could ask the Gordons, I guess, but going to your boyfriend's parents to ask about the guy you used to have a crush on before you fully comprehended how awesome their son was...yeah, doesn't really sound fun.  
  
The point I'm trying to make, I guess, is that without Gordo, nothing was the way it used to be. Everything became a cheap cardboard facade, like on a movie set. It was Gordo that injected life into everything. It was Gordo that injected life into *me*.  
  
My dream had been completely right. When Gordo was so perilously close to death, it was like a part of me died, and it's only just recently been revived.  
  
In that first week, I almost lost my best friend in the universe, then watched as he wrestled himself from death's hands and came back to me.  
  
In that second week, I not only kept my best friend, but gained something more. A boyfriend. Not a boyfriend like Ronny was a boyfriend, where I got to dance around and sing about how I had a boyfriend. But...it's Gordo. Does that even make sense? It's like, he's almost an extension of me. He's the song, I'm the dance. Well, not exactly, but you get the gist of it.  
  
That second week I had to go back to school again (once the doctors had determined that I was in fact recovered). It was okay, though, like that first day after Gordo had first woken up. Because he was okay. And if he was okay, I was okay. He'd gotten moved out of the ICU, and was recovering well.  
  
I still spent every night at the hospital, staying as late as I dared, talking with him, kissing him, just *being* with him. The way we'd always been. Lost in that comfortable silence with each other. Your true friends are the ones you can just be around and never have to say anything.  
  
Miranda came by most nights. I know she felt like she was being left out of something, but at the same time, I guess she realized how much we needed each other then. This is why Miranda's my other best friend.  
  
Lots of other kids from school visited too, indicating that we were a lot more popular than either of us had ever realized. That, or they were just hoping Gordo would croak and they could get his stuff. Either way, we still got dropped in on by Kate, Ethan, and Tudgeman. Our parents and Miranda excluded, I'd never seen anyone look so proud for the both of us than those three did on the occasions when they visited. Miranda was right. Everyone knew about me and Gordo. They could see something in us that we couldn't see for ourselves until it was almost too late.  
  
But we saw it now.  
  
Gordo got released two weeks after he got checked in. Mr. Gordon, Mrs. Gordon, and I helped him get settled again at home. I used to be scared of his parents, but now I saw past their creepy no-nonsense business personas to the warm people that they really were, and I thought of them as my second set of parents. Which they would probably become someday, if I had my say.  
  
Marriage, me and Gordo. We're too young to be thinking about it, but like I said, I can't imagine life without Gordo. And I'm pretty sure he can't imagine life without me.  
  
At Gordo's house, we just sat in his room for hours. No one bothered us. There were no machines, no doctors, nothing but me and Gordo. We talked about how going back to school would be like for him that Monday, joking about how everyone would fawn over him, teachers especially, giving him extensions and pity A's.  
  
"I don't need extensions," Gordo said finally. "I don't want special treatment. I can get it all done in time."  
  
"Only if you never want to sleep ever again," I said. "You'll work yourself straight to an ulcer, Gordo."  
  
"After all of this, I'd say an ulcer is the least of my problems."  
  
I had to smile at that. "When you got hit, Gordo," I hedged, not sure if I was in the right to ask, though I could see no reason why I wouldn't be.  
  
He didn't let me finish, but he probably knew what I was trying to say, anyway. "I was going to your house," he said. "I thought maybe we could hang out."  
  
Guilt gripped me so hard I had to look away. "So this is all my fault then, isn't it."  
  
To my surprise, Gordo was laughing. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. "*Your* fault, Lizzie? You're kidding, right? Listen, unless you were driving the car, this is hardly your fault." I opened my mouth to protest, but he waved it off. "Lizzie, don't you dare take the blame for this, because it's so far off base, okay? This is in no way your fault. Don't be stupid."  
  
"I'm sorry, Gordo," I said, practically in tears. "It's just...this has been so hard."  
  
"I know, I know."  
  
"I love you, Gordo."  
  
"I love you, Lizzie," he answered, and he held me tightly, promising, "I always will."  
  
A lot can happen in two weeks. You could lose everything you have, and get everything you ever wanted. 


	11. Alternate Ending

Disclaimer: no one mentioned belongs to me, I guarantee it.  
  
I had the idea for this sitting around for a long time, and only just now decided to post it. When I originally started this fic, a long year ago, my original intent was for Gordo to die. But at the end, I decided to play Good God (as opposed to Bad God), and let him live. But I saved this for you folks--enough time has passed that I feel okay about posting it. Here's the alternate ending.  
  
The Worst That Could Happen  
  
The Alternate Ending

* * *

What can happen in two weeks?  
  
A _lot_ can happen in two weeks, let me tell you.  
  
You could find yourself facing a lazy Saturday afternoon, wearing your most casual sweats and flopped on the couch, watching Emeril, then out of nowhere, you get a phone call that crumbles your entire universe.  
  
Think about it. A minute or two. The punching in of seven digits, the delivering of the news, it only takes about a minute or two.  
  
A minute or two is a lot.  
  
Two weeks is a lot, too. You can completely lose your mind in two weeks, as your best friend in the universe, since you were a day old, is knocking at death's door, pardon the tired cliché. I've known him my entire life, and I've spent almost every day with him, and the idea of never getting to spend another hour without him was terrifying and humbling. You'd be surprised at the things you take for granted.  
  
Gordo's sarcastic comments. His comforting hugs. Ironic, really, that he was the person that always made me feel better about myself, about the future, and now he wasn't here to tell me that everything was okay. Because everything _wasn't_ okay, everything was every kind of wrong.  
  
Miranda could pull off the color black really well. With her build, her dark hair, her exotic features, wearing a black dress made her look sort of mysterious, sort of foreign. She would have been incredibly beautiful if she hadn't been crying.  
  
_"Please don't leave me, Gordo. Not ever. Please. I love you. I need you."  
_  
Black wasn't the best color on me. It's supposed to be slimming, but I hadn't been eating much lately, and the black only accentuated the gaunt look to me, only highlighted my pale, worn features. My hair was limp, and my mom had attempted to style it, but the best she could do was pull it back into a reserved ponytail. Not that it mattered. Gordo had always told me that how I looked didn't matter.  
  
He had promised me. He had promised that he would stay.  
  
The whole class was there. Black and tears were our new school colors. I saw familiar faces: Kate, Tudgeman, Ethan, Mr. Dig. I saw faces of people I'd always known, and people I'd never known, all coming together to celebrate my curly-haired best friend.  
  
Gordo had been so perilously close to death, and I'd felt at the time as though a part of me had died with him. I felt empty, lost, scared and confused. I didn't seek God, I shied away from my friends, I wanted comfort only in from the one person I couldn't receive it from. Now that he was actually...  
  
My parents stood behind me, my mother crying, my father grasping her hand tightly with his, his other hand on Matt's shoulder. Matt looked like a ghost, minus the pallor. My parents looked the same. Miranda, Mr. and Mrs. Gordon. All of them, the walking dead. The sudden relapse had taken us all by surprise.  
  
I swallowed back the lump in my throat, blinked rapidly to clear my eyes of the prickling sensation of unshed tears. My vision was clear, but my head was still hazy. Nothing was as it should be. My world was upside down. I was feeling kinship with my brother. I was wearing depressing black instead of my usual bright, gaudy colors. Gordo was not here. I had entered an alternate reality, one that I didn't like in the slightest. I had no way of getting out.  
  
He loved me. I knew that. We could have had so much, the two of us. Everyone thought it, but also thought it best that we find this out for ourselves. A fat lot of good it had done us, because it was too late. I wanted to rewind time, I wanted to realize the truth sooner, I wanted Gordo in my life the way that I so desperately needed him to be, even if only for a day. I wasn't even asking that he be back from the other side permanently. I wasn't being selfish. I just wanted one day, one day where I could hug him and kiss him and tell him how much I loved him and how much he meant to me.  
  
That day would never come.  
  
I was a shell. I felt nothing. I didn't eat, I didn't sleep. I was a bag of skin, a puzzle of a skeletal system, a jumble of organs. I had no head or heart, no soul. I had nothing that made you a person. I was only an organism, just barely alive. My parents were worried, my friends, my teachers, my classmates, doctors, nurses, psychologists and psychiatrists. Everyone was worried. Everyone was poking, prodding, fighting. How to make her feel better. 'Give her time to herself.' 'She needs an activity to keep her mind off things.' 'She'll find someone else to love, with time.'  
  
Time. It was always about time. With time, I would heal, they said. With time, things would become okay again.  
  
Gordo hadn't had time. The concept of myself and Gordo, as friends, as a couple, as anything--that hadn't had time. Time was up. The last grain of sand had dropped, the last second had ticked by, there was _nothing left_.  
  
I had debated suicide. The army of therapists would go ballistic if they knew the true depths of my thoughts, rather than the 'struggling through it pluckily' façade I put up for them. For professionals, they were dense. I wanted an end. I wanted finality. There was no life without Gordo, didn't they understand? He was my soul.  
  
I wanted to be with him.  
  
But I knew better. I knew that it wasn't what he would want. He loved me. He always had, he wanted only my happiness, even at the cost of his. He wanted my life, even at the cost of his. For him...  
  
Kate touched my shoulder on one side, Miranda on the other. Tudgeman and Ethan were behind them, my parents, Matt, Gordo's parents. All were looking at me encouragingly. I took my rose, blood red, and dropped on top of the lowered coffin. There were no words to be said, nothing that hadn't already been said. I returned to my place, immediately swamped in a cloud of friends and family, supporting me. Trying, the whole lot of them, to fill the void. It almost worked. I felt loved, that was to be sure. But it wasn't the same, it could never be the same.  
  
I had to hope, though. Maybe things _would_ get better with time. Time changed everything, after all. In two weeks, I had lost everything. But I had, for one brief, shining moment, gotten everything I'd ever wanted. 


End file.
